


Had it Coming

by Anyanka77



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dark, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 12:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9608300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyanka77/pseuds/Anyanka77
Summary: ***Warning***This is not a happy story. It is very dark from early on to explain why the character is how she is. If you are uncomfortable with or are unable to read about rape and rape themes. This may not be the story for you. If you can read, please let me know what you think in the comments. This story came to me and would not shut up while I was trying to shop. All input and critique welcome.





	1. Fault

It had been about seven months. She was painfully aware of the time. She never spoke about the incident because she knew it had been her fault. She had broken her own rules, so she had no right in her own mind to blame her being attacked on anyone but herself. 

 

Not that mattered if you did report things like this. It didn’t. Too little evidence. Your word against his. You were asking for it. She was sixteen the first time it had happened. She was far more wild then. Growing up in a small, blink and you’ll miss it, town, in the middle of cornfields, rape was not talked about. Well, it was talked about, but it was all about how these girls were just running around asking for it. So when she had been out too late goofing around with her small circle of small town questionable kids, she had it coming. When she walked home alone after trying the beers her friend Sami had stolen from her dad’s special fridge and smoking not one, but two whole cigarettes by herself, she had it coming. When she chose to wear a denim mini skirt, flip flops, and spaghetti strap top that afternoon, she had it coming. She had promised to call Sami in the morning, they were going to go to the lake the next day and laze around in their brand new two piece suits that their mothers hated. It was such a lovely day and a clear night. She had no idea that she had it coming.

 

He was older. Having dropped out the year before at 17, moving into one of the “skeevy” apartments on the east side of town, just down the block from her house. They were only skeevy because they were apartments in a town that was so small it barely had a grocer. The highlight of the town was the methodist church, so the small block of four apartments that sat uncomfortably close to the train tracks were considered the “wrong side of town”. She had vaguely remembered him from school, but since their town was too small for it’s own school and they all were bused into the high school in the bigger city about 10 miles away, she wasn’t familiar with him. He wasn’t from here. This little town was a bubble. It was easy to miss that they had been in school together. That he had watched her once or twice. Thought she was about the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. He remembered her when he had moved in, so close to where she always walked. Because everyone walked here. Why drive your car a couple block when everything was in walking distance that you needed and you knew everyone in town, making a walk to the market a social event. He had watched her earlier that very day, first walking past his apartment on the way somewhere, then back again with her tall gangly friend who always seemed to wear too much eyeliner, he guessed to distract from her rail thin and shapeless body. His girl, though, she didn’t paint herself up like that. His girl didn’t need to distract, she was perfect just as she was. That is how he had started think of her when he started watching her so long ago, His girl. Then there she was, walking through the gravel lot by his building, she took the shortcut on rare occasions when she was out late. He smiled seeing her. It seemed like the right time. 

 

He popped the door open and spoke to her through the ripped screen door. “Hey, You’re Janey right? Where’re you off to this late?”

 

She started a little at the voice but half recognized him, “Hey, you’re Nicky right? I think we were in school together.”

 

He chuckled, “Yeah, before I left. So what are you doing out so late?” He stalked slowly out into the lot and toward her. She shifted a little but largely stayed still. Something felt off but she also knew that nothing bad ever happened here. He was just being friendly. 

 

“I was out with my friends, time got away with me,” she chuckled too, feeling a little brazen after her acts of rebellion with her best friend. “I should have probably just told my parents I was staying there, but her dad was a little hot tonight, so I thought it best to leave.” 

 

He had slowly moved closer and closer, almost herding her. “You’re gonna be in trouble then, huh?” She felt the hair on her arms stand up and a tiny flutter in her chest. “Come on in with me and have a beer, if you’re in trouble anyway you may as well make it worth it.”

 

She didn’t have much time to react “No, I bet-” He had shut her up quickly, wrapping an arm around her waist and covering her mouth as he carries her into his apartment.

 

“Oh, my girl, that wasn’t a request.”

  
  


She had shut off after all of that. Kept her head down. That was when she wrote her rules. 

 

  1. Stay where you know. There is safety in routine.
  2. Don’t worry about being social. Friends lead to bad decisions. Friends leave.
  3. Don’t show off.
  4. Don’t talk about it.
  5. Don’t be out alone after dark.
  6. Stay safe. Always. If it feels wrong. Run.



 

When she ended up at a small college in a town almost as small as hers, she felt safe, she stuck hard and fast to those rules. She focused on her studies. She avoided what the locals called “pervert park”. It was easy and she moved through her degrees and settled into a comfortable job, alone, without incident. 

 

She was happy in her routine, some would call her boring or distant, she called it safe. She happily settled into her life as a forensic researcher, working at the university where she’d gotten her PhD. She was perfectly content to live the rest of her life there, with her books and silence. In her safely controlled life.

 

But the world is hardly ever so kind. So now she was here, in a new country, in a new job, coping with the aftereffects of having broken her own rules the very night she had come to this crazy city. She would run over which rules she had broken whenever she felt uncomfortable or sick. She was not somewhere she had known. She was alone after dark. She was being social with a stranger. Half the rules out the window because she had stayed a little too late at the small bookstore that she thought was near her new apartment but ended up being much farther than expected, she shouldn’t have walked back, but there were no cabs. She shouldn’t have trusted the nice enough seeming man who offered her help when she got turned around. It was all her fault. She didn’t talk about it and went back to following her rules. She didn’t even tell the sweet and reserved pathologist she would occasionally share a table with at lunch. She couldn’t hide everything from her lunch friend, but she hid as much as she could. It was all her fault after all. She had it coming.

 

Her lunch friend had asked her if she wanted to go out and grab dinner. She thought about it as they walked through from the lab into the small lounge. She was confused and almost ran into her friend’s back when Molly stopped suddenly, her jaw dropping at the image on the screen. The face of the man who had taken her, tormented her for first two weeks in this country, just seven months ago. She instinctively put her hands protectively on her expanded belly. 

 

“How?” Janey asked.

 

Molly turned to her, “How is he alive?”

  
Janey’s confusion grew, “No, how do you know who he is?”


	2. Chapter 2

He was thinking of ways to lure Sherlock back to into his game but nothing would work. He could murder and pillage the city to near extinction, but it wasn’t Sherlock’s time to come back to him, would not play with him, he was too busy with that other one, so it would all be for nought. 

 

That didn’t stop James from trying.

 

He felt the itch to get his hands dirty. It didn’t happen often, but when that itch came, no one was safe until he sated it. He needed to be naughty. He scanned the cafe, who would it be. There was the sappy looking couple by the bar peppering each other with small kisses and touches as they shared a dessert, a trio of giggling young women sharing a plate of chips and taking pictures with each other on their mobile phones, a waitress who looked like she would rather be anywhere but in this cafe, and a woman by herself reading what appeared to be a small atlas and making notes on a notepad. That was her, a tourist, perfect, plenty of people didn’t even come home from a vacation. He watched her casually, waiting for her to pay her bill and leave. He cataloged everything she had with her, notebook, small atlas, mobile phone, and a small handbag. He took a moment to send a message to one of his techs, shortly thereafter, he was hacked into her phone. More wonderfully useful data. She was Dr. Jane Woodbury. American. Her email was a dot EDU so he took a moment to search her on the University website. She was a forensic researcher. Good, he liked smart prey. She was here for a new job. He laughed, it was always Bart’s wasn’t it. He knew the semester was still at least a month off. So much time before anyone would even know she was gone. Lovely. 

 

She paid for her coffee and left the cafe, he followed. Watching her as she moved around the neighborhood, It was close to the hospital, closed to her new home, and he could tell she was mapping. Oh this was lovely, he looked her over again as the new deduction crossed his mind. She was dressed to hide. Long sleeves, high neck, pants. She walked with a practiced confidence. Not enough to pull anyone’s eye to her, but enough to deter someone who might think her weak. And she was mapping. His mouth practically watered. She’d been taken before. She was already a little broken. So, so very lovely. 

 

She made notes as she walked. She was being oh so careful, completely unaware that he was herding her like a lost lamb. She sensed someone was following her, and would adjust for it. He could feel the paranoia radiating off of her. It was so easy to get her farther from home than she had surely planned to go, to keep her out after dark. 

 

He watched her leave the bookstore. Knew she’d love it. The panic came from her in waves. She walked a little more briskly, stopping too long at corners to check her notes. He waited just a little longer before walking toward her.

 

“Excuse me, Miss, you seem lost, can I help?” He rolled his shoulder forward, making himself seem small, unassuming. He was playing Richard again. 

 

She stammered and looked him over, “Um, no, I’m okay thank you, I am just, turned around a bit.” She started walking in the opposite direction, trying to control her breathing. He so enjoyed watching her self soothing and fighting to stay calm. He cut over and kept close to her until he could cross her path again. 

 

“You really should just let me walk you home, Dear.” She gasped and took a step back. He just continued to slowly close in on her. 

 

“I-I’m fine, thank you.” She broke into a run, turning too soon down an alley that looked like a street. Sweat, panic sweat on her lip and forehead. He stalked her slowly, cornering her.

 

“Janey, Janey, Janey. Do you really think I don’t know your every move before you even make it? ”  He edged her to a wall and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Leaning in to whisper, “Haven’t you felt my hand pushing you along all day, steering you to right here, right where I need you to be?”

 

She squeezed her eyes tight and took a deep breath. He could tell she was preparing to defend herself. Her hands came together in front of her as she heaved into him, shoving with all her weight to get free from between him and the wall. He sputtered and laughed, grabbing her by her hair as she broke free. “Feisty!” He dragged her against his chest. “How old were you when you were attacked, Janey? You fight like a survivor,” 

 

He doubled as she shot her elbow back into his solar plexus before bringing her heel down on his foot and pulling away as he fought to get his breath.

 

Somehow he was still laughing, “Good!” He charged her again and caught her under the arms as she ran, slamming her to the ground as she kicked and scratched at him. “This is getting a little excessive Janey!” He landed a heavy backhand before grabbing her by the throat and pulling her up. “It’s time to go home Janey.” 

 

She used every ounce of strength that had not been knocked out of her when she hit the ground to fight as he dragged her to the car that had pulled up at the end of the alley. Getting in a good scratch to his face before he got tired of her and smashed her head against the car, making her head swim and her consciousness slip away.

 

He held her as they were driven away, in a sickening mock tableau of romance, putting her head on his shoulder, rocking her softly. So many plans were buzzing in his mind. He had planned to just kill her. To watch the horror and shock in her eyes slowly fade into nothing as he squeezed the life from her. He was a fan of strangulation. It was really the best way to go when you wanted to really feel the power of someone’s life ending on your whim. But as he stroked the knocked out girl in his arm, he suddenly wanted this to be even more intimate than that. He wanted her completely before he took it all away. He wanted to see her fight and kick and scratch until her body had nothing left to do but submit to him. Then she would be his, then he would take her, then he would leave her corpse somewhere pretty. He carefully brushed a loose strand of hair off her face. It was all so lovely. 

 

He fished the keys from her bag as the car pulled up outside of her flat. Arranging her limp form just so as to appear that he was bringing home and inebriated friend. He was happy she lived on the first floor, it was hard moving dead weight. He dropped her on the couch once they were inside, making himself at home. He put a kettle on, searched her bedroom and kitchen for some tools, and eventually came back into the living area with his tea, slowly setting to the task of restraining her. 

 

She she fluttered back into awareness, he was amazed that she was so calm. This one had strong walls built up. He counted down from ten in his mind as she slowly became more and more aware that she had not dreamed what had happened. He had situated her so carefully on the daybed-style couch, had even taken a few pictures before she had come to, her body, bared and in repose. Wrists bound together and placed delicately on her abdomen, her ankles tethered together to the spindles of the frame. No, he didn’t leave her spread and exposed, he rather enjoyed the look of Snow White innocence he had created. If only there had been flowers for her hair. She struggled to sit up, the combination of slight concussion and the awkwardness being bound made it difficult. She only stilled when she heard the slow click of his shoes across the hardwood floor.

 

“Good morning, princess,” He let his fingers loosely find her neck and press her back down. “No need to get up just yet. Did you sleep well?”

 

He could feel her body tighten, drawing in the energy to scream. He moved his hand up to cover her mouth and nose, pinching off the air just slightly. “Now, now, let’s not do that, we are going to have a lovely day together, let’s not start it off with me having to really hurt you.”

 

She nodded softly in acquiescence and he removed his hand. He lightly stroked her hair as he slowly moved to straddle her recumbent form. She turned her head away and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. His fingers coiled in her hair and pulled firmly as she tried to turn away. “Ah,ah, none of that now, eyes on me.” Her eyes were glassy as they reopened. “I want you to see every bit of you falling apart.”


	3. Chapter 3

Janey worked to control her breathing as she watched Molly frantically pacing, talking into her mobile. “He’s been in London at least seven months. Yes, but-- I don’t know the details, yet-- We need to get out of here. Do you even know where he is, if it’s even real?” Molly’s voice dropped, “He may be watching us.”

 

Janey let her hands slip in a slow steady rhythm over her round belly as she centered herself slowly. “He’s not watching me, he said he would leave me alone, when he was finished with me.” She moved to tracing small patterns on swollen middle. “I don’t think he even knows about this little one.”

  
  
  


They always ended up back at Baker Street. Molly never quite understood why. There was nothing special about the building, sure after the “gas leak” years back the glass in the windows had been replaced with something a little more blast resistant, but there was truly nothing to stop Moriarty from just casually strolling in whenever he pleased. Maybe that was why is was always Baker street.

 

She helped her friend (Acquaintance? Lunch Buddy?) up the small stoop into the familiar front hallway. Janey was still well away from her delivery but that didn’t stop her body from seeming almost obscenely large. That coupled with the stress of seeing the man who had tormented you for a full week in order to create that insanely large thing growing inside you had left Janey a little wobbly. Molly worried for how pale and weak the woman looked.

 

She was thankful to see John barrelling down the stairs to their aid. Without hesitation he had a practiced arm around the visitor’s back and the other on her elbow as she leaned heavily on both him and the railing. 

 

“Thank you, John.” Molly smiled as she followed them.

 

“I’ve had practice. How are you feeling Dr. Woodbury? I’m John, Doctor John Watson. ” He noted that she barely nodded in acknowledgement. A small measure of shock. He steered her carefully into his chair in the sitting area and crouched down in front of her, taking her pulse discreetly as he continued to speak. “Dr. Woodbury, may I call you Jane?” 

 

She nodded and whispered “Janey.”

 

“Right, Janey. You’re safe here. Can you take a deep breath for me?” She complied slowly, taking comfort in the calm and confident voice of man attending to her. “There we are, just some questions now okay?” 

 

She looked up past the calm face of the gentle doctor to the far more blustery looking man sat opposite her. His fingers rhythmically drummed on the arm of this chair, his crossed legs bouncing. John felt her pulse kick up when the man spoke. “She’s pregnant, John. It’s hardly fatal. Terminal yes, fatal no.” He smirked at his own backhanded jab at procreation. 

 

John turned to give him a withering look, “That would be Sherlock Holmes, he’s a berk.” 

 

She let out a small laugh, “Holmes, yes, I’ve read your blog. I quite enjoyed the Science of Deduction,” John’s head snapped back to her as she continued, “well most of it. It was a little light of peer reviewed sourcing, but the post of ash was fascinating. I’ve only really been able to classify 200 or so variations, your additional insight was compelling.” 

 

John and Molly looked back and forth between the two seated, faces both amused and confused. Sherlock leaned forward, suddenly interested.

 

“Well, it really comes down to vintage. Weather variations directly affect both the growth and drying of the tobacco. Jane Woodbury,” a piece of information slid into place ”Ah yes, I’ve read your dissertation on facial reconstruction. It was almost  entirely wrong, but your insights into the musculature variants of northern chilean tribesmen was quite fascinating.” 

 

She leaned forward at this, “So many overlook the importance of muscular concentration, always in a rush to get a composite, they totally overlook that there are clear genetic markers for muscular concentration and it can dramatically reshape the face.”

 

“Obviously, so many overlook the simplest of data.”  Sherlock leaned even closer, looking the woman square in the eye. Clearly sorting deductions in his head. Everyone in the room was silent as he let his hand rest atop the full roundness of her belly, “Tell me what happened 27 weeks ago.”

 

* * *

 

She rolled her head to the side and looked at the shadow on the bedroom wall, it was 2pm, the shadows always hit the wall around there at 2pm. She’d been asleep 10 hours this time. That made today Tuesday. Nine days.

 

She knew he was trying to disorient her, keeping her up at odd hours. Flooding the room with light for a day then taking all the light away for anywhere from 2 to 10 hours. It was distressing, but she was largely playing along. She just had to fight to get to the end, whatever that end was, be it release, or death. She looked over to the camera on the nightstand. He was in the room moments later. She sat up on the bed, putting on a face of docile compliance.

 

“Hello, sleepyhead.” He glided over, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand, she fought to not flinch away. “Good girl. Now up you get, can’t have you lazing the entire day away.” 

 

She did everything she could to stay calm, knowing he wanted her fight, wanted her struggle, wanted her to bite and claw. Knowing that is she kept on this track, he would get bored. All a means to an end. He pulled her up and pressed their bodies together. Letting out a frustrated growl at her loose limbed passive resistance to him, digging his thumb into the florid stripe of flesh over her bruised collarbone. Pressing until he got a proper reaction from her, eliciting a pained moan from his unresisting victim. “Oh Janey, my Janey. I know I haven’t really broken you, you act so malleable, but it’s not real submission. It’s passive defeat.” He dropped his hands, releasing her so quickly that she almost fell from the lack of his supporting grasp. He looked over her shaking form, taking in the art that was the deep hued bruises and angry red stripes of lacerations that he had inflicted upon her, covered her creamy skin. “Do you know what today is my Janey?” When she didn’t answer he lifted her chin up to meet his gaze, stroking her jaw ever so gently. “Answer me, Janey,”

 

Her voice was barely a whisper, the very act of talking making her ribs blaze with pain. “No.”

 

The smile that crawled across his face was frightening and repulsive. “The last day.”

 

* * *

 

She did her best to finally tell that dark secret that she had sworn she would never tell. She felt compelled to tell the man across from her. Nothing emotional. Nothing visceral. Just the cold statistical facts. The number of days, the number of injuries, the number of torments. All the tidy facts that made it sound like a case study and not the tale of a woman who spent nine days in the hands of a psychopath and lived to tell that tale. 

 

She could hear the strangled gasp from Molly, she felt the doctor’s reassuring hand on top of hers. Sherlock's hand remained on her for the entirety of her speech. She closed her eyes and nodded when she came to the end of the rundown of data. Sherlock canted his head to one side, letting all the information roll and merge, working to coalesce into the answer he needed. “He didn’t kill you. What changed his mind?” 

  
She slowly opened her eyes again, looking into the inquisitive face. “I wasn’t worth it.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://img1.etsystatic.com/103/0/9693496/il_570xN.840179249_83x5.jpg ... This is the knife mentioned below.... It's kinda pretty, huh?

Day One

 

“I want you to see every bit of you falling apart.” 

 

She tried to regulate her breathing, she could tell she was already damaged. That was how she had to think of of it, damage. She listed her damage in her head. Concussion, contusions. Nothing that will not heal within a few days. 

 

He watched her eyes, leaning in so close that his breath warmed her face. “Oh! This really is lovely. You’ve got a brain in there.” He tapped her forehead. 

 

She yanked her face away when he touched her, ready for this to end, like the last time. In, out, done. “Why are you prolonging this? We know why you are here, just do it already.”

 

“Oh my dear, this is not as simple as you want to make it out to be.” Whispering into her ear as he lifts her bound hands over her head and tethers then to the frame, reaching for the folded knife he’d set on the table at the couchside. “EYES OPEN!” He squeezed her face, “I don’t like repeating myself.” He released the grip on her and set to the task at hand, letting the blade flip out, turning it over slowly in his hand as he continued, “It’s pretty, no?” the knife was custom-made, the blade was short and narrow, etched at the hilt with a delicate leaf and line pattern, such an elegant instrument of pain. “It’s new, I’ve been wanting to try it out.” He slowly ran the dull side of the blade down her upstretched arm.

 

“Please, stop.” Her voice was soft and low but steady.

 

“Mmm, so calm. I could kill you right now,” He continued to run the dull side of the blade down until it was at her throat. “So simple. But sooo boring.” He quickly flipped the blade over and slashed a quick gash up the inside of her arm. The blade was so quick and sharp that she saw the pain before she felt it, letting out a shuddering gasp, seeing the thin, fine line of blood welling along the clean, even slash. “This is slightly more fun.” He reached over her head again to fetch a small cloth, wiping the blade, “So, no, Janey, I’m not going to just kill you. I am going to make you want to die. That much is obvious. But I’m not just going to kill you.” He leaned in again and ran his tongue up the newly opened skin. “I am going to make you prove you are worth my killing you.”

 

* * *

 

“Why didn’t you contact the police, go to a hospital?” Sherlock was fascinated. 

 

She shrugged, “What would the point of that be? He was so very careful in how he hurt me. Spaced it out so I could heal, so the marks would fade and nothing would scar. The worst was a broken collarbone, the one time his control actually slipped, and I was able to take care of on my own. So what then, I go in and file a report, a man attacked me. There was nothing to show that anything had happened other than a broken collarbone and a couple of faded cuts and bruises. Why bother?”

 

Molly piped up, “So someone could try to find him.” 

 

Sherlock understood, “Oh don’t be so naive, Molly,” he leaned back finally, “women are attacked all the time and no one bothers to do much more than write it down and say they will do what they can. People with far less intelligence and skill than James Moriarty have gotten away with it, do you think he would have left anything to trace back to him? Well, he at least thought there was nothing left behind.” His eyes drifted again to her belly, the full round reminder. “Why didn’t you abort it?”

 

“Sherlock!” John’s tone told Sherlock he was being indiscreet, but he pressed on.

 

“Why keep it?”

 

Janey shook her head and didn’t balk at his straightforwardness. “I thought about it. I really thought about it and I realized I’m closer to 40 than I am 21. I’ve never had a relationship and I want to be a mother. So, lemons,” she pat her belly, “lemonade.” 

 

“The father is a psychopath.”

 

“And I have a laundry list of post traumatic disorders. Sounds like the perfect genetic pool.” 

 

* * *

 

Day Two

 

She woke up kicking, bucking and struggling, continuing the fight she has been having when she had lost consciousness. It took her a moment to realize that she was no longer bound to the couch, and a further moment to realize she was now in her bedroom. She sat up quickly and looked around. She was alone. Why was she alone?

 

She carefully moved from the bed, taking in as much as she could, what was different. There was a baby monitor and small camera by the bed, pointed at where she had been. She didn’t have time to question it. She yanked the closet and grabbed a short dress, one she usually wore with leggings and a cardigan, but there was no time for that. She winced as she slid it over her head, the fabric scraping over her fresh wounds. She didn’t look for shoes, she just needed to be out. She threw open the door to her room and charged forward, using all her strength to get to the front door. As she rounded the corner, her feet left the ground. His arm latched around her middle and spin her around. She kicked and cried, hitting the floor with a crack, pressed to the hardwood by his lithe body.

 

“Ah, ah, settle down, Janey, you are in no condition to run.” He ran a finger up her exposed arm, pressing slightly into the fresh cut. “You need to rest. Are you restless, do you need something to calm you down?” He hand moved down to rest on her thigh, sliding the dress up, “This it pretty, but entirely pointless.” He pushed the dress up over her midsection and she bucked her hips, trying to get from under him. He pressed her to the floor by the throat. “So, eager.” His free hand slipped between her legs, pawing at her naked sex. She instantly stilled, rigid at his touch. He didn’t stop, sliding two and then three fingers roughly inside her. She pressed her eyes tightly shut only to pop them back open as the hand at her throat tightened. He didn’t have to say it, she heard it in her head.  _ I want to see every bit of you falling apart.  _ Silent tears leaked from her eyes as he freed himself from his pants, forcing deep into her, raw and tearing with lack of preparation. She stared blankly to the ceiling, naming the bones, muscles and nerves in the face, letting her mind disconnect. 

 

* * *

 

“It makes no sense.” John looked confused. “Don’t get me wrong I am happy to see you alive, but --”

 

“She wasn’t worth killing, she said that already, John.” 

 

“Worth? This is a man who once blew up an old woman because she said his voice was soft. Hell, this is a man who faked his own death to try to kill YOU, Sherlock. People don’t typically just happen to survive in his company.”

 

“John,” Molly spoke softly, looking at her friend. Janey’s eye looked into the middle distance, lost, unfocused.

 

“Oh God,” He squeezed her hand gently, “Janey, talk to me, are you okay, remember you’re safe here.”

 

“I just was not worth it. I meant nothing to him, or anyone, I’ve never meant anything to anyone. Why kill someone who was already dead to the world?”

 

* * *

 

Day Three

 

Empty. Sick. So much pain. She just wanted to sleep but she was sat in a kitchen chair, carefully restrained, ankles to neck, immobile, the bright light of the kitchen that seemed so charming when she chose this flat, now a cruel torment. She didn’t know for sure how long she’d sat there, but the pain, the deep aching pain of sitting immobile for so long was eating away at her.

 

She watched him make a cup of tea, actively ignoring her suffering. She took as deep a breath as the bonds and her ribs would allow, “I’m sorry.”

  
He turned around with a smile. “Was that really so hard? Six hours for a simple apology?”


	5. Chapter 5

Day Three

He loomed over her, “Why are you sorry, Janey? It’s hardly a true apology if you don’t understand it’s meaning.”

She kept her eyes locked forward, pressing down her inner battles, too hungry and tired to wage those wars. “I’m sorry I refused to eat.”

He began to loosen her bonds, just enough to let her sag a little in the chair, her body weakened to the point where the few ropes digging into her skin were the only thing keeping her from slumping out of the chair and to the floor. “You are forgiven, I can understand your hesitation, it would have been so easy to poison your food, but you needn’t worry, it’s not time to kill you just yet.”

He released her hands, knowing that her pain and general weakness would prevent her from causing him any real issue. He went to the refrigerator then and retrieved the small plate of sandwiches which had started this whole ordeal, setting it and the cup of tea he had prepared in front of her. She was still wary, taking the tea first, she’d seen him make that. 

Her chest clenched with the ache of dehydration, the warm liquid feeling like fire to her parched body. She winced but continued to greedily drink. She fought the wave of nausea as it hit her empty stomach.

“There’s a good girl, we can’t have you simply wasting away now can we?” He pushed the plate closer to her, perched on the table and watching her every move. Her penchant for defiance to the point of self harm was admirable and annoying. “Go on now.”

She reached forward tentatively, keeping an eye on him. She looked over the sandwich before taking a bit. It was simple enough, butter and cheese on bread, but it meant so much more. It was not a sandwich, it was a concession. 

“EAT!”

She flinched and took a bite, working to swallow, her body wanting to reject food after having been without it for too long. With effort they made it through the sandwich and finished a cup of tea and the large glass of water he had sat before once she had shown she could be trusted to be obedient this time. 

“There’s my good girl.” Her stomach clenched at endearment. Threatening to bring back the little sustenance it had allowed. 

She muttered, “I’m not yours.”

He sighed and pushed the hair from her forehead before leaning in, his voice a mocking whisper. “Yes, I’m afraid you are right Janey. You’re not worth it.” He leaned back and kicked her chair backward.

 

Sherlock did his little dance as he talked on the phone. Molly always wondered why he did that, but finding it cute, never questioned it. “Yes, about seven months ago -- Well your operatives are wrong -- for just shy of two weeks at least -- Oh, Brother mine, the proof is currently sitting in John’s chair having a biscuit.-- so I assumed, fifteen minutes.” He hung up his phone. “Mycroft is on his way.” 

Sherlock sank into his chair with a sense of accomplishment. Anytime he could be one step ahead of his brother was a good time. He watched the woman across from him, still fascinated. Molly and John were gone, having gone with Lestrade to an undisclosed safe house for the time being. A safe house that Janey had refused. 

She finally spoke, looking up from her tea, “So, why didn’t he kill you?” 

Her question was met with a deep baritone chuckle. “He thought he had, I had other plans.” 

She nodded. He studied her face, the series of emotions she worked to suppress as soon as they arose. “You must be a pretty amazing person.”

“He likes a challenge. He also likes to ruin people. Burning the heart out of them. He craves the chaos and pain.”

“Awe, if you keep talking like that people will say we’re in love.” 

Sherlock moved quickly to stand between the voice and his charge. 

 

Day Four

She was starting to think that it would never end. She was starting to pray that it would. The lack of sleep was wearing away at her sanity and the panic attacks that she had struggled to suppress for so many years were coming back with frightening regularity. She knew she couldn’t panic, shouldn’t, that letting herself be vulnerable was more invitation for him to torment her. It wasn’t always pain and violation, those she could block out. She could shut herself in her head when he raped her, cut her, left her tied in impossible positions, deprived her of sleep and food. She took small comfort in the thought that her solemn acceptance of his brutality was making him grow tired of physically hurting her. She was having a harder time when the torment shifted, when the pain stopped and he would carve out tiny pieces of her with wicked kindness. She steadied her breathing. She can’t panic.

“Breathe, Janey, just breathe.” He sat across from her balled form on the couch. “You have suffered through so much. It’s impressive really.” She flinched away when he ran his hand over her back, “It’s like you were built for it. Did you know that you were made to suffer, Janey? When he took you. When you hid what happened deep inside you, a ball of thorns that tore at you with every waking move?”

She refused to cry, she refused to speak, she refused to fight. She wasn’t even restained. She was just weary. “I deserved it.” she whispered, she could hear his smile but refused to look at it.

“I’m sure you did, how old were you then, fifteen, sixteen? Almost a woman, physically there, physically ready to be taken, but still clinging to that childlike hope that you were meant for something other than pain, something other than being used, something other than what you have become? Did you try to end it all?” He ran his finger over her arm, feeling her tense. “Try to cut the pain out of you? Dig it out in thin lines and strokes?” His roving finger moved down to her thigh, tracing the scars that lingered there. “But it was never enough to quiet the thought was it, Janey? That nagging little thought that what happened was meant to be, that all you truly were worth was to be used, taken, hurt.” He stood then and forcefully made her look at him. “He was wrong, Janey. The beast who broke you and left all those little pieces floating around in you, not able to slide into the proper order. He was wrong.” He stroked her cheek then and she could no longer hold in the tears. “An arrogant child, who had no idea,.” His thumb lightly soothed the tears as they fell. “None at all what he could have had.” 

She was too tired to fight, just so tired, she couldn’t understand why he was being kind. The words were so soft when she spoke, “Why?”

“Oh my dear Janey, because I know what you are made for, you are made to feel like this, broken, vulnerable, helpless. It’s what lets you be free.” He kissed her so gently then, his lips feathering against her forehead. She closed her eyes and let the tears shake her body, letting out a pained cry when he moved to hold her. It was too much. Gentle kindness was too much, it was overloading her mind. He sighed into her hair, “maybe I should just keep you.”

 

James leaned on the doorframe, smiling at his foil. “It’s been an age, Sherlock, I was hoping you’d be alone.” He moved into the room trying to see past the taller man. “Have you got yourself a lady friend there? I didn’t think that was your ar--” He was silenced seeing her face. He fell onto the couch seeing her belly.


End file.
